


Bite-Size Love: Duet

by heartbash



Series: Bite-Size Love [2]
Category: Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (TV)
Genre: F/M, Feelings Sex, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, Sex, The Love Making -er Sex Making, These two are softer than ever, Vaginal Fingering, sex sex sexy sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:40:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25561468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartbash/pseuds/heartbash
Summary: After Rebecca confesses her feelings for Nathaniel at the open mic night, they have their second first time.  . . . Sex. They have sex.
Relationships: Rebecca Bunch/Nathaniel Plimpton
Series: Bite-Size Love [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1779049
Comments: 11
Kudos: 49





	Bite-Size Love: Duet

**October 9, 2020**

Patience. Persistence. Perspiration. 

_That’s what makes the Plimptons so successful_ , his father used to say. The 3 Ps. (Of course his father relished in the way the alliterative phrase fit perfectly with their namesake.)

Growing up, patience was the virtue hardest for young Nathaniel to develop. When he was a child, patience meant waiting until nine o’clock sharp on Christmas morning before tearing open his gifts. _Not a minute sooner, Nathaniel._ It didn’t matter that the outline of a brand new bike was about as conspicuous as a giant neon sign. (Not to mention the test of patience from receiving thirty-year Treasury bonds as a gift, which _still_ have not matured.) When he was a teenager, patience meant waiting until he was a sophomore to be able to play on the varsity water polo team due to some arbitrary, archaic school rules. It meant waiting an agonizing four months for his high school sweetheart to be ready to go to second base. It finally happened backstage in a dressing room during tech week rehearsals of _Jesus Christ Superstar_. Talk about a holy experience.

By the time he reached adulthood, he had practiced enough patience to suppress his frustration with gritted teeth (and the occasional trip to the Emergency Room from falling off a treadmill) every time his father deemed him “not ready” to handle a prized client. All the persistence and perspiration he put into his work – starting at the bottom of the family business and slowly working his way up because _nothing is ever handed to you, Nathaniel, this isn’t a charity_ – apparently still wasn’t good enough. At each step, each rung of the firm’s ladder, he kept telling himself that only perfecting the 3 Ps would eventually propel him to the top.

But none of it – nothing in his past – not a lifetime of practicing the 3 Ps, could prepare him for one Rebecca Nora Bunch. 

It has been approximately three years and a handful of months (not that he’s counting) since the day she came barrelling into his life in a flashy purple rash guard, unimpressive boyfriend in tow, spouting some nonsense about skipping work to go to Raging Waters. On that day, his life changed forever. She broke every mold, every rule, every carefully constructed boundary he had erected in his mind. She challenged him, plain and simple. At first, he blamed his interest in her on his baser physiological urges. He wanted her for the same reason he persisted and perspired so hard to sign a tough client. He loved the thrill of the chase, the thrill of seducing the unattainable. (Or the engaged to a braindead bro, in this case.) Once he had sex with her, the conquest would be over and he would move on. 

They had sex. He didn’t move on. Not even close.

Rebecca had quickly burrowed her way deep into his heart and rearranged all the furniture. Whether he liked it or not, she took up residence there and, at some point early on in those three years and a handful of months, it became impossible for him to imagine a life without her. 

Nothing worked on her. Not Patience. _Definitely_ not Persistence. And not Perspiration. 

It wasn’t until he threw away the 3 Ps that his life changed for the better, both professionally and personally. He took a sabbatical and moved away, immersing himself in a different world where his father’s approval no longer motivated his every move. He embraced his passions and reflected deeply on his past mistakes. Most importantly, he finally moved on from Rebecca. 

On the night of the Valentine’s Day open mic, they found their way back to each other, as they always did. No matter the emotional or physical distance, they seemed to be on some cosmic collision course with each other, fated to be drawn back together again and again. Their relationship had weathered almost every iteration – as coworkers, rivals, partners, lovers. But it wasn’t until they became _friends_ , real friends, that everything finally clicked. He could simply be himself with her, all pretenses and stupid inherited ideological frameworks be damned. 

Earlier tonight, when she sang to him in front of a room full of her friends (and tolerant strangers), he realized that no amount of patience or persistence or perspiration would have ever made a difference when it came to their relationship. Because _this_ was their time, _this_ was their place, _this_ was the right version of themselves to finally be together. 

Every decision, every mistake, every fork in the road over the course of the past three years and handful of months led them to this very moment: the two of them, stumbling over the threshold of his apartment, lips sealed together. Unable to pry their hands off each other, they had opted to ditch her car at the venue and drive to his place together. As he drove, he rested his hand in her lap, tracing delicate circles on the inside of her thigh while she watched him from the passenger seat with a contented, demure smile. There was a lightness about her, like a weight had been lifted after her confession. They didn’t utter a word in the car, nor as they walked from the car to the elevator hand-in-hand, nor on the ride up to the third floor as he peppered kisses at her jaw. 

Finally inside his apartment, he slams the door shut behind them, not bothering to lock it or even turn on a light because all he can focus on is pressing her up against the door and devouring her mouth. With a needy whine, she hooks her leg around him, and it’s all the provocation he needs to hoist her up by her thighs, raising her face to his level. As she whimpers, opening her mouth to him, he’s reminded of how much he missed this. Kissing her. Hearing her soft sounds. Feeling the heat of her body thrumming with want, her hips pressing insistently against his pelvis, the pads of her fingers tight around his neck. 

His brain whirs as they kiss, still catching up with everything that had transpired in the past twenty-four hours. The day before, he had essentially ended his friendship with Rebecca, inadvertently confessing his love for her in the process. She let him walk away, and he genuinely believed it was the end. The end of everything. 

He dragged himself to the open mic partly out of a strange sense of obligation, partly because he had business to conduct with Paula, and partly out of Nathaniel-typical masochism. Up on stage, Rebecca was an other-wordly vision, cast in a radiant, glowing halo of stage lights. Her voice was soft, tentative, and vulnerable at first, unlike any other performance he had witnessed. Her song sent him sailing from the lowest low to the highest high of his life. The emotion behind it was so genuine and heartfelt it left him breathless, struggling to believe all her love could be directed solely at him. The aftermath still has him reeling, wondering if, at any moment, he will wake up and find out it has all been a beautiful dream. 

And now she’s kissing him, really kissing him, her soft body wedged between him and the door. It’s almost surreal how much has changed in those scant twenty-four hours. He wants to hear her say it again – that she loves him – to know it’s real. He wants the words again, words he’s so seldom heard uttered about himself. He stops kissing her and rests his forehead against hers, finally breaking the silence by whispering, “Is this really happening?”

With a laugh in her voice, she says, “I think so. Yeah.” 

He firms up his grip around her thighs and walks unsteadily to his bed, depositing her as gently as possible onto the mattress. She doesn’t let go and drags him down by the neck with her. As he resumes kissing her, letting his weight settle on top of her, he wonders: has she always been this soft? From the tips of his fingers in her hair down to where he’s nestled between her thighs, she is impossibly, irresistibly soft. He wants to drown in it, to bury himself inside her softness as soon as humanly possible.

He drops his mouth to her neck and she sighs, hiking her legs higher around his ribcage. He trails light kisses along her collarbone and smells a faint trace of her perfume in the hollow of her throat. Her breath hitches when his erection grinds against her thigh. A low, animalistic noise escapes his lips and he nips at her neck, sinking his teeth into the skin.

He doesn’t think it’s enough to leave a bruise, but it’s enough to make her squeal a high-pitched sound of surprise and clamp her legs tighter around his torso.

“Sorry,” he breaths into her neck, soothing the area with a gentler kiss.

“You trying to give me a hickey?” 

“Maybe. Maybe I want everyone to know you’re mine,” he growls. 

“I think everyone in West Covina already knows,” she says, her voice quavering.

Nathaniel props himself up on his forearms to try to see her face. The room is still cloaked in darkness, save for the faint glow of indirect light from the street lamps outside. From what he can make out of her features, she suddenly looks tired. The usual brightness in her eyes is dimmed, her forehead creased in thought as she runs her hands slowly over his shoulders and biceps. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks softly.

“I haven’t had sex in a really long time,” she whispers, like it’s a big secret. 

“Me either.”

“Really?” she asks, relief in her voice.

He nods.

“Wait, are you _nervous_ about sex?” he asks, incredulous.

She laughs, acknowledging the absurdity of it. They’ve had sex how many times before and she’s never shown an iota of nervousness. He understands, though, because this time feels . . . different. He’s nervous too. 

Diverting the attention off herself, Rebecca starts manipulating the top button of his shirt to start undressing him. That’s when he notices her hands. They’re trembling. She’s shaking even worse than she was on stage hours before.

“Are you OK?” he asks, gently pulling her arm away from his shirt.

Rebecca covers her eyes with her hands, frustrated and embarrassed, then drags them down her face dramatically. “Ugh, I’m sorry. Maybe it’s all the adrenaline catching up to me. Or maybe because I’ve been awake for over thirty-six hours. I don’t know. It’s like I can’t calm down.”

“We don’t have to do this. Really. We can wait.”

Rebecca shifts under him, deliberately creating friction that sends his eyes rolling back.

“I think we _do_ have to do this,” she says with a smirk.

He grins. “It,” he says, nodding his head down toward the offending party, “can wait. I can be very patient.”

Rebecca begins to yawn and quickly covers her mouth with her hand. 

“I am going to try not to take that as a personal assessment of my performance thus far.”

“No no no,” she says, a laugh in her voice. “I’m sorry. This is a disaster, isn’t it?”

“Not even close.” He hesitates for a beat, then adds, “Do you . . . want to sleep here tonight?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

With a push-up against the mattress, he lifts himself up off the bed and walks to the dresser. Opening the top drawer, he says, “You’re welcome to whatever you want to wear. You know where everything is. I’m going to go, um, splash some cold water on my face or something.”

Rebecca giggles as she sits up on the bed. “OK. Thank you.”

Nathaniel retreats to the bathroom, letting out a big exhale after he shuts the door. Truth be told, she’s not the only one who got no sleep the night prior. She’s not the only one running on pure adrenaline and nerves. While his libido may argue with him, he’s a little relieved he has time to regroup before he has to perform sexually. Frankly, with how this entire night took him by surprise and how long it has been since he’s had sex, he’s not entirely convinced he wouldn’t have exploded on impact. He wants their first time to be good for her. Special. He wants to show her that the risk she took up on the stage tonight was worth it. That _he’s_ worth it. 

As promised, he runs the faucet and splashes cold water on his face. The sensation shocks him, diverting some of his body’s focus from his groin back up to his head. It helps. After washing his face, he brushes his teeth with his electric toothbrush, making sure to spend the full two minutes. By the time it’s over, his erection has subsided and he feels more at ease.

When he opens the door, the harsh light floods into the bedroom. Rebecca, who is already snuggled under the blankets in one of his t-shirts, squints back at him and he quickly flicks off the light. Fumbling a little in the darkness while his eyes adjust, he finds his dresser through touch. He opens the top drawer and replaces his button-down shirt with a t-shirt then sheds his jeans. 

Her breathing is already deep when he lies down beside her. As the mattress dips with his weight, she responds by scooting in close and resting her hand tentatively on his stomach. Her hesitation is endearing. How could she possibly wonder if cuddling is on the table, considering they were one breath away from having sex mere minutes ago? Yet, at the same time, he understands her uncertainty over boundaries. When is the last time they had anything close to normal boundaries? During the affair, he never knew what was acceptable affection and what was crossing a line – where did the sex end and love begin? And these few last months of their friendship, it was just the opposite. All manner of affection was acceptable as long as it could be construed as platonic. It was all . . . confusing. 

To assuage any doubts, he wraps his arm around her and pulls her close to his chest. She melts at his touch, snuggling close until her body is flush with his. Her nose pokes at his throat and he smiles, planting a kiss at her hairline. There are approximately a million things he wants to say to her. But with her body completely relaxed, all her limbs enveloping him and her face affectionately tucked into his neck, he can’t bring himself to verbalize anything. The moment is perfect. So he savors it, saying nothing.

When he dreams, he dreams of her. In a jarring reversal of the night he just lived, he’s on a stage, a microphone in his hand. A crowd is watching, but the faces are all blurry and dark. Except Rebecca’s. She is the only person he can see clearly, and she’s illuminated as if she’s under a spotlight. As with most of his dreams, the details are hazy and disjointed. They’re not at the open mic venue, but at the Sugar Face lot where they kissed. He’s singing Backstreet Boys like he did in the store and she’s beaming at him in that same way – with that dorky, adorable smile that will make him do anything for her. The dream is a mish-mash of memories shoved together, but the way it makes him _feel_ is the same as he did tonight. His heart is racing and his cheeks are hot and he can’t believe they’re together, that she loves him, and he loves her back so fiercely it’s hard to breathe.

He’s not sure how long they sleep, but he feels somewhat rested when he wakes to Rebecca kissing him. Her mouth is on his, her jaw loose, her kisses lazy and sluggish with sleep. His response is delayed, having to play a few seconds of catch-up to reality. He threads his fingers through her hair and returns her kisses in slow motion. Her hands are slowly – so slowly – rubbing his chest, his side, his back. The room is still mostly dark, save for streaks of moonlight streaming in from between his drapes. Her body is warm and heavy, her movements dreamy, like maybe she’s also still in that amorphous space between sleep and awake. 

He runs his hand under her t-shirt, caressing the bare skin of her lower back, and she purrs and stretches like a sleepy kitten. She grabs his wrist and he freezes, afraid for a brief moment that he’s crossed a line. Proving that assumption very wrong, she tugs his hand higher up under her shirt to her breast. Taking the not-so-subtle hint, he cups her breast, running his thumb leisurely over her nipple and she gasps, breaking their kiss.

“Nathaniel,” she whispers against his lips, pulling up at the hem of his t-shirt and trailing her fingers over his abdomen.

“Hmmm?”

She throws her leg over his hips. “Do you want to have sex with me now?”

“God yes,” he rasps. 

She lovingly cups his jaw and whispers, “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Nathaniel trails his hand from her breast down to the thin pajama pants she plucked from his stash of comfort clothing. The waistband is folded over twice to accommodate her considerably shorter legs. He makes a mental note to tease her about that later. With a smile, he tugs them down and she wiggles her hips until he’s able to pull them off. He drags his fingers gently over the front of her underwear and finds the scratch of lacy material. She planned for this. She wanted this to happen. He slides his hand beneath the material, gently tracing her clit and she sucks in a surprised breath of air. 

“Sorry,” she breathes, “it’s been a while since someone touched me.”

“I want to touch you everywhere. I want to touch every part of you.”

She shivers. 

He uses his palm to rub her clit harder, his finger trailing downward. She’s wetter than he expected considering he’s barely touched her. He teases her with his fingertip, spreading the wetness to circle her clit. She bites her lip. Her eyes slip shut. As he continues to massage her clit, he kisses her, mimicking the same leisurely cadence with his lips. After letting her arousal build a few more elongated moments, he slides his finger easily into her and she moans, high-pitched and needy, into his mouth. 

While he makes love to her with his fingers, she squeezes his bicep encouragingly and raises her hips to meet his strokes. He knows how she likes it. Curling his finger so it dances over the front wall, he lets it slip almost completely out before sliding back in. Her soft whimpers against his lips tell him he’s remembered right. When his finger starts to slip from all the moisture, he adds another and she wriggles her hips in pleasure, moving her hand to the back of his neck and kissing him deeper. After a few more seconds of this new rhythm, her muscles clamp tight around his fingers. She’s getting closer. That’s when he realizes how painfully hard he is. Unable to control his response, he thrusts against her leg.

Rebecca pushes the arm that’s fingering her, signalling for him to stop. 

He immediately removes his fingers and ducks his head, prepared to make a trip downward next.

Panting, she grabs at his head before he can go any further. 

“No. I want you. Inside me. Right now.”

That’s all he needs to hear. He rolls over onto his back, reaching over to the nightstand to get a condom out of the drawer. After taking a moment to regain her faculties, Rebecca gets up on her knees beside him and tugs at his black boxer-briefs. He lifts his hips and she pulls them down over his cock and she grins like she’s unwrapped a birthday gift that _won’t_ take thirty years to mature. As he tears at the condom wrapper, she clasps his penis in her tiny fist, which proves to be a pleasurable, yet ultimately distracting act. She pumps a few times and circles her thumb over the head. 

“Can you give me a few seconds so I can do this?” he huffs, his hips lifting off the bed.

“That’s the problem with men. Can’t multitask.”

Finally, the condom wrapper opens with a satisfying tear. As he rolls the condom onto his dick, Rebecca pulls the t-shirt over her head in a two-handed maneuver. He tries not to gawk at all the newly exposed skin.

“Do you want to get on top?” he asks softly. He runs his hand affectionately over her thigh, inadvertently spreading the lingering wetness from his earlier ministrations on her leg.

Lucky for him, they already have a fine-tuned sexual shorthand, developed over the months they spent having sex almost daily in the supply closet. She always comes when she’s on top. Full stop. She tried to explain it to him once during a speech about clitoral versus vaginal orgasms and how there’s some fancy angle that stimulates both for her. Whatever female mathematics makes it work, he doesn’t care. All he knows is she orgasms this way, sometimes multiple times, and he needs that kind of advantage after months of build up. 

She smiles a knowing smile at the request, and she wordlessly hooks her leg over his hips so she’s straddling him, keeping her weight hovering above him.

“Sit up a little,” she says softly. 

He obeys, pushing himself a bit more upright so he can lean against the headboard. Her hands immediately find the hem of his t-shirt and pull it up over his head. She runs her hands appreciatively over the length of his torso, her nails gently scraping over his chest down to his abdomen.

With a jolt of inspiration, she leans forward and kisses the base of his neck right on his mole.

“I’ve been wanting to do that,” she says.

“That is so . . . strange,” he laughs.

“ _You_ are.”

With both his hands on her hips, he guides her over his cock and she stabilizes herself using his broad shoulders. She pauses, and, in her luminous eyes, he sees the overwhelming love he has for her reflected back in equal measure. He knows Rebecca feels everything deeply, every emotion, highs and lows alike. All that intensity of feeling burns bright in her eyes. They’re bare, naked in front of each other in every sense of the word.

She opens her mouth to say something but seems lost for words, like all that burning passion has left her speechless, too overwhelmed to articulate her thoughts. For a moment, she looks as though she may cry. 

“I know,” he whispers and moves her hair behind her shoulder. “I know.” He palms her neck and draws her close to kiss her.

As they kiss, Rebecca sinks down onto him. He uses every ounce of willpower to stay as still as possible, to let her take the lead. It’s slow, agonizingly slow as she takes him inside her, finds her way home. He can’t help but moan as he fills her, stretches her, and, god, her pussy is just as wet and warm and snug and perfect as he remembers. Once he’s fully inside her, she pauses and breaks their kiss, a relaxed, satiated smile blooming on her lips. He smiles back and gives her a small shrug as if to say, _That wasn’t so hard, was it?_ Then she starts moving up and down on him, bracing herself with one hand on the headboard and the other on his shoulder. 

It’s never been like this before. All the times they snuck away and fucked in the supply closet, it was good sex, sure. It satisfied their immediate needs and gave him an excuse to be close to her. But it was never like this – slow and deliberate, with intention. In all the times he conjured up fantasies of having sex with her again – through memory and imagination – it was never like this. He was never so self-indulgent and hopeful to imagine the pure love he sees shining back in her eyes.

“Oooh,” she coos. She’s found that magical angle and she full-body shudders. Her mouth goes slack with pleasure as she rides him, huffing out the most erotic-sounding breaths he’s ever heard.

She leans back and crosses into a stream of light peeking through the windows. The clear, bluish light from the moon cascades over her, illuminating her like an enchanted, mythical goddess. The light and shadows dance over her body, accentuating every curve: her full breasts, the feminine dip of her waist, her flared hips. Her hair, curly and slightly tangled from sleep, falls luxuriously past her shoulders and is tinted with a dark blue undertone he’s never seen before. He’s mesmerized. 

“What?” she whispers, stilling her movements. He must have been staring, and he realizes that his mouth, indeed, is gaping open. 

“Sorry. You just . . . You’re beautiful.”

Her eyes flit away and she lets out a breath that’s half-laugh, half-scoff. Ever the enigma to him, he wonders at how she can project such confidence in her appearance in day-to-day life yet still bristle at heartfelt compliments.

“That’s what I was thinking,” he says earnestly. Anchoring both his hands on her lower back, which is now damp with sweat, he thrusts up into her, punctuating his point. 

She searches his eyes. He’s not sure what she finds there, but it causes her to stop moving, her whole expression softening. He hopes she sees that he’s telling the truth. 

“I love you,” she says, cupping one of his cheeks.

There they are. The words. A rush flows through him as powerful as when she said them on stage.

“I love you too,” he exhales, wrapping his arms around her, thrusting deeper still. “I love you so much.”

No, it’s never been like this before. 

All the times he imagined this moment while he was in bed alone, dick in his hand, he imagined explosions of passion. He imagined scorching heat – reds and oranges and bursting, blinding light. He imagined fervor and fire, an insatiable hunger. He imagined it would be like every encounter they had in the supply closet but turned up to eleven.

But this reality, this beautiful, sleepy slow dance, is so much better than anything he ever imagined. The heat between them is simmering instead of scorching, and it pools low in his abdomen and spreads deliciously up his spine. There’s no rush, no hurrying for fear of being caught, no meeting they have to attend when they’re done. They have a luxury they never had in the past: Time. For once, he knows there _will_ be a next time. 

Rebecca picks up her pace and pushes him back against the headboard. Closing her eyes, she inhales sharply and her muscles flutter around him. Seeing her on the cusp of orgasm, all flush and damp and female, fills him with a masculine pride she would hate. 

“Yeah, baby. Come for me,” he coaxes, holding on to her hips as she rides him in earnest. He’s not sure where the term of endearment came from, nor does he recollect ever saying _baby_ before in his life, but it fell effortlessly out of his mouth before he could stop it. All his blood has been diverted to the place where their bodies connect, short-circuiting all his cognitive functions.

She peeks one of her eyes open at the word but doesn’t comment. 

She leans forward, compressing her clit even harder against his pubic bone – again, she’s explained the mechanics of getting her off to the point where it’s almost clinical, albeit a worthwhile education – and she tucks her face into his neck, wrapping her arms tight around his shoulders. It’s happening now, so he keeps up the pace, replicating the same pattern of movement over and over. She sucks in a sharp breath, a millisecond of calm, then lets out a long, satisfied moan as her orgasm crests. 

As she breathes hard into his neck, riding the wave of the orgasm, he keeps thrusting, but slows his tempo. After a minute or two, she whispers, “Holy shit.”

Rubbing his hands up and down her back, he replies, simply, “Yeah.”

“God, I needed that.” Then, “Did you come? You didn’t, right?”

He grins. “No.”

“OK. I think I blacked out for a second there, so I wasn’t sure. My ears are ringing.”

“Wow.”

She lifts her head from his neck and leans back to see his face. Brushing the hair off his sweaty forehead, she says, “So, what do you want?”

“What do _you_ want?”

“Nah ah. I already had my day in court.” She smirks, her eyes drifting to the side like she’s remembering something. Shifting her hips in a way that creates tortuous friction, she pouts her lips and rubs the back of his neck with intention. “Nathaniel, I want you to do _anything_ you want to me. And I mean anything.” 

Without skipping a beat, he replies, “Wow, you really haven’t changed at all, have you?”

She playfully smacks his bicep. 

He continues, “All that supposed growth and change was all just a ruse. . .”

“Shush you –”

Before she can protest further, he rolls her over onto her back. He settles between her legs, hiking up her thigh so he can push in even deeper. Rebecca hums with contentment as she runs her hands over his chest.

“How does it feel?” he asks.

“Good. So good. I like you on top of me.”

They could never do it this way during the affair. There was simply no furniture sturdy or comfortable enough and he wouldn’t debase himself by rutting around on the dirty floor. Even if they used a table, her legs would dangle awkwardly off the edge. Though he knows it’s the most basic, uncreative position, in this moment, it feels like the epitome of sexual artistry. And on a soft bed, no less.

“Good,” he echoes gruffly. His thrusts are hard and fast, lacking all of the finesse and beauty Rebecca showed when she was on top. Their height difference leaves something to be desired in this position since he can’t easily kiss her without ducking his head. But, god, he loves wrapping her up in his arms and burying himself to the hilt inside her. It fills him with a desire that’s ancient and primal. This is my woman. She is mine. 

Weaving one hand through her hair and the other around her lower back, he finds a new angle that feels downright filthy. With each stroke his pelvis crashes against her clit and the sensation makes her gasp. 

Lifting her hips to meet him, she whispers, “That. Keep doing that.”

Forget about everything else, now his only mission is to make her come again. 

When he pulls back to gaze down at her, she’s craning her neck to see his facial reactions. 

Dropping his mouth to her ear, he says, “You feel so fucking good.”

“Yeah?” 

“You’re so hot for me, aren’t you? So wet for me.”

“Yes.”

“Every time I touch myself I think about you.”

“Oh god.”

He’s slowly unraveling, losing his tenuous control over his impending orgasm. Just a little longer. 

“You’re mine,” he growls. 

“Yes. Harder. Don’t stop.”

He speeds up until he’s fucking her so rough and sloppy he’s worried the inertia will make her bang her head against the headboard. It’s irrational, he knows. But rational thought isn’t at the forefront of his mind, so he places a protective hand between her head and the headboard. 

“Oh god. I want to see you come. I want to feel you come. Please,” she rasps, digging her nails into his sides. In a hoarse whisper, arching her back, she says, “Love how you fuck me. I’m yours. I’m yours. Fuck, I’m yours.”

“Oh,” he huffs, strangled and hoarse, “oh fuck. Rebec –”

It’s all too much. His groin tightens and his fingers curl against her scalp, grabbing a fistful of her hair. Every muscle in his body clenches and he vaguely registers Rebecca saying his name amidst a string of profanities. 

Then it’s all over. His orgasm is aggressive, his whole body trembling with the force of it. He groans loudly as he spills into her. As the aftershocks roll through him, he slows his thrusts but stays inside her long after its peak. All the while she strokes the back of his neck, cradling him tenderly between her thighs. 

Once he’s recovered, he braces himself on his forearms and lifts his hips to slip out of her. Her face scrunches up – she hates this part when the used condom slides out – and he can’t help but laugh. Not only at her face, which is pulling a look that’s supposed to be disgust, but only endears her to him more in his post-coital haze, but at the pure joy that they’ve finally done it. They had sex. And the world didn’t end.

He rolls off of her onto his back and rests his hands on his stomach. For a full minute they lie side-by-side, each catching their breaths. 

“Wow,” he says, eventually. “Did you –?”

“Yes,” she replies between heavy breaths.

Fuck Stanford and the firm and Guatemala and all his life’s work; lasting long enough to give her _two_ orgasms after his lengthy sex hiatus is his greatest accomplishment.

Gesturing to the bathroom, she asks, “Can I go first?”

“‘Course.”

Rebecca leaps off the bed and disappears into the bathroom. While she’s gone, he finds his sea legs and gets up from the bed, grabbing a kleenex from the bedside table. He rolls the condom off and balls it up in the tissue. She returns not long after, practically bouncing back to the bed.

He takes his turn in the bathroom next, disposing of the condom and washing off the little particles of the tissue that stuck unflatteringly to his dick. His cheeks and chest are splotched with red, his hair a tousled mess. All he sees in his reflection is the same lovesick dope he’s always been for her. Except things are different now. They’re different.

When he leaves the bathroom, she’s lying on top of the blankets back in his clothes. He’s always loved the way she looks in his clothes. The sight of her in one of his dress shirts and nothing else leaves him weak in the knees. But seeing her swimming in his t-shirt and rolled up pajama bottoms fills him with an entirely different kind of warm, tingly affection for her. 

Fuck, he adores her.

He picks up his phone from the nightstand to check the time. 

“What time is it?” she asks.

“About five.”

“So we still have several hours we can spend in bed together.”

“Yeah,” he says, finding his boxer-briefs on the ground and pulling them on.

He lies next to her and rests his hand on the swell of her hip, letting out a long, contented sigh. Trailing his hand from her hips to her waist, then back, he says softly, “No one’s ever done something like that for me before.”

“I’m pretty sure we’ve done that plenty of times before.”

“No, I mean, earlier. A big . . . gesture like that.”

“Oh. Right.”

“I can’t believe you did that,” he says, in awe of her.

Her eyes drop, like she’s suddenly self-conscious about something. 

“What is it?” he asks gently. 

“This is real, right? You want to do this. Be with me. For real.”

“Of course I do,” he says, pulling her closer. 

“I know this is the dopamine and oxytocin talking, but I’m really happy.”

“Me too,” he says softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s all I want for us.”

“So. Did you have a moment?”

“A moment?”

“You know, a moment. A moment you started loving me again? I told you mine.”

“You told all of West Covina yours. Thanks for announcing that I put my hand in a toilet bowl, by the way.”

She giggles and he’s putty in her hands.

“I’m not saying it happened all at once, but I do remember a moment when I realized I may have deeper feelings.”

She scoots closer, biting her lip in anticipation. 

He takes a deep breath. “When we were in the waiting room when my mom had her surgery and you were reading to me from that dumb magazine. As I was listening, I was thinking about everything you did for me. How you got Paula to take my hearing. How you drove out to LA and waited for me at the hotel and then stayed up with me all night. And then you sat with me through her whole surgery with my father watching us the whole time. And I thought, _I love her._ ”

“That’s really sweet,” she says and leans forward, pecking him on the lips. When she settles her head back on her pillow, she asks, “Yesterday, when I asked you how you felt, why didn’t you just tell me?”

He wrestles with how much he wants to disclose. Should he tell her the whole truth? That he was terrified he wouldn’t hear those three words in return? That every time he made himself vulnerable to her in the past, he screwed it up or it scared her away? That maybe he _did_ need that big romantic gesture? Which of those admissions is the least humiliating?

“It’s hard to explain –” he starts.

Rebecca’s face falls in disappointment and his stomach drops with guilt. Hours earlier, she laid her feelings bare in front of a packed room of their friends and strangers. If she can be so brave, honest, and genuine in the face of her own fears, doesn’t she deserve the same in return? 

Rebecca cups her hand around his neck and says, “Hey, what’s wrong? Your face is doing a frowny thing.”

“Sorry,” he whispers, licking his lips nervously. “Um, the truth is I think I needed to hear you say it first this time.”

She nods, encouraging him to continue.

“In the past, the times I’ve . . . opened up . . . things never seemed to work out.”

Her eyes drift to the side like she’s deep in thought, ruminating on his words, and it compels him to fill in the silence. 

“I know that we can’t promise each other anything. But I hope if you ever feel . . . not happy with me or mad or want to break up –”

“I get it,” she says softly, snapping back to attention. “No ghosting. No randomly showing up and breaking up out-of-the-blue. No choosing to go to jail after saying we’ll be together. That’s what you mean?” 

Embarrassed at how quickly she nailed his insecurities in one swoop, he breaks eye contact and exhales sharply. 

“I promise,” she says, insistently. “Pinky swear.”

She holds out her pinky as an offering. 

“What are we, twelve years old?”

“Come on! Pinky swear me! Let’s make a promise. Right now. No blindsiding. No abandoning. We’re honest with each other. A fresh start for us.”

“This is ridiculous,” he says as he hooks his pinky with hers. It’s awkward with the way they’re laying – he’s pretty sure you’re supposed to both be using the same hand. But the gesture is sweet and there’s a seriousness in her eyes. She means this. She wants him to mean it too.

Giving in, he says softly, “OK. I promise.”

“I love you.”

That matter settled, she kisses him then she rolls over, dragging his arm over her middle to spoon her. He bends his knees so they’re tucked behind hers and rests his nose in her hair. 

“I love you too,” he whispers behind her ear. 

His body molded to hers, with her words and promises echoing in his brain, he is at peace, hopeful for their shared future. He’s not worried he’ll wake up to an empty bed or that she’ll take it all away tomorrow. It’s a leap of faith, but Rebecca jumped first, offering her whole heart. It’s more than he ever dared ask for, and, as he laces their fingers together where they rest at her stomach, he vows to himself that he’ll do everything in his power to make it work this time.

No, it’s never been like this before. 

**Author's Note:**

> My wonderful beta, Elle, deserves a GIGANTIC shout-out for this one. I may have asked her to read this upwards of 5 times. (I may or may not have felt a bit of self-imposed pressure to get this right after 16 chapters of slow burn.) So, THANK YOU. Especially for withstanding all the dirty talk discourse.
> 
> Thanks to Kayleigh for the art and for her never-ending encouragement. 
> 
> Love is reading. Love is commenting. <3
> 
> Email contact: heartbashfic@gmail.com


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